The Content of his Character
by samaryley
Summary: Darrel Curtis, Sr. is a good man. But is he the kind of man who would risk everything he has to help a stranger? One-shot. Pre-book, obviously.


**All characters from The Outsiders belong to S.E. Hinton**

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It was early January, and it was _cold_. Darrel rubbed his hands together, trying to ready them for the day ahead, his breath condensing in white clouds against the gray sky. Snow coming? It sure looked like it. He went around to the passenger side of the truck, opening the door and taking out his lunchbox, the thermos full of hot coffee that Molly had insisted that he take, and his toolbelt.

He was early- among the first on the site. The baby had been up earlier than usual, Molly bringing him into the bed to nurse. He was eighteen months now, an age at which both the older boys had been sleeping through the night, but Pony was just not a good sleeper, and they'd come to expect his waking up at least once during the night. He still slept in a crib in their room, so Molly could nurse him back to sleep when he woke up crying. True to form, that morning, the two of them had both fallen back asleep, but he had just lay there, listening to Molly's soft breathing and Ponyboy's sleeping baby noises, eventually picking him up, putting him back into the crib, and heading into the shower.

He had taken his time, knowing the day would be a long, cold one. The chill had already begun to permeate the house. By the time he'd emerged from the shower, dressed in layers for the cold day ahead, Molly was awake again, standing at the kitchen counter, making coffee, toast, and eggs all at the same time, and the boys were sitting at the table, still in their pajamas.

"Daddy!" they had yelled, jumping on him. He had squatted down, letting their little arms encircle his neck, then stood back up, taking them both with him. Their legs snaked around his waist, and finally one boy had settled on each hip. It wouldn't be that much longer that he'd be able to hold the two of them at the same time, he had realized. Darry was growing like a weed, and Soda was a challenge to hold just by virtue of his level of activity. When holding him, you had to give him your full attention, or he was likely to squirm right out of your grasp.

"Good morning, my boys," he had said, giving each a peck on the cheek, then setting them back in their seats.

"Pony still sleeping?" he'd asked, coming up behind Molly at the counter, circling his arms around her and planting a kiss on the side of her neck. It had been eight years since they were married, but he still loved her as much as the day he'd said "I do." Even at that moment, knowing that he had work to get to, and that she had three little boys to feed, he had been tempted to take it further, to turn her around and press her up against the counter, kissing her until she made that soft moan he had come to love, that meant that she was his alone, that she loved him, that she wanted him.

But he hadn't. He had stepped to the side, filling a cup with hot coffee, and sitting at the table, pouring milk into his cup from one of the boys' full glasses of milk.

"Daddy!" Soda had said, "That's mine."

"Well, then drink it up, buddy," he'd told him, and he had.

"You too, Darry. You're gonna be big and strong, like Daddy, right? Drink your milk." He, too, had drunk it all down, smiling up at him. He had no doubt that Darry would eclipse him in both size and strength. Only six, the boy was already the size of a nine-year old. He was everything a father could hope for in a kid: smart, strong, kind.

Before leaving, he'd cornered Molly once more, between the sink and stove, pressing her into the corner, his hands on her hips, his lips finding hers. Had there been more time before he needed to be at work, and had there not been two of their three children sitting at the table behind them, that kiss might have led to other things… things involving less clothing, hands straying to settle on other places, but time marched on, and Darrel had had to get to work.

"Here," Molly had said, handing him a pitcher of coffee. "I added the milk and sugar already."

"Bye, baby." He'd kissed her one more time.

"Bye, boys," he had called over his shoulder as he headed out the door. "You be good for your Momma today, okay?"

"We will, Daddy," Darry had answered. Darrel knew he would make sure Sodapop did, too. Darry was already a leader.

……………..

One by one, the other men arrived, their bodies emerging slowly out of their vehicles, tensed up against the cold, greeting each other with mumbled hellos as their breath escaped in clouds. It was a big job- a house in the richest part of town- and there were more men working than usual, since the boss had been promised an extra bonus if he put a rush on it.

Darrel knew a few of the guys, but some he had never worked with before: a few rough looking Texans, a couple of young kids just out of school. He didn't talk much with them- he was the kind of man who preferred to work alone. He did his job, and he did it well, not taking many breaks or chatting unnecessarily with the other workers. The boss knew him- trusted him- and occasionally would send one of the less experienced workers his way for a quick lesson.

"You go see Curtis about that," he'd hear him telling a puzzled looking kid. "He'll show you how to do that right." And he would. He was patient, as a teacher- gentle, even, but never got particularly friendly with any of the men. That was a side of himself he reserved for his boys, and for Molly.

The boss had him up on the roof that day, finishing attaching the plywood to the roof joists. He had a feeling his next job would probably be shingling the very roof he was now laying, so he was careful to line things up properly, knowing that it would make his next task that much easier. There was another guy up there, a younger guy named Jackson, working on the opposite side. He was one of the men Darrel had never worked with until this job. He found himself hoping the guy was taking the time to do things right, since the shingling would probably be his job alone. He was fast, and the boss knew it, and he wouldn't be wasting another man on that when he knew it was a task Darrel could handle on his own.

He worked steadily, thinking about the hot coffee in his thermos, but not stopping to drink it, despite the fact that it had gotten even colder, and the sky had started spitting out something akin to snow, yet not quite the right consistency to label it as such. Darrel knew the day would probably be cut short if the precipitation picked up at all- the work now was all outside work and it just got too dangerous in cold, wet weather. Hands didn't work quite right, tools slipped, and people got sloppy, wanting to head back to their warm homes and even warmer wives.

Darrel thought about Molly and smiled. She was a good wife, an even better mother, and a fantastic lover. The passion in their relationship had never waned. Even after the births of the three boys, they still were like teenagers sometimes. The thought of her caused Darrel's focus to drift for a moment, and he felt the hammer slip out of his hands, grabbing for it just as it started to slide down the slope of the roof, becoming slippery now with the precipitation. He scolded himself- dropping your tools was a stupid mistake, a beginner's mistake. Chances are, it wouldn't hit anyone down below- Christ, if it did, you were really in for it- but it was a hassle nonetheless, either having to go back down to get it, or wait for someone else to bring it up to you, and it was a waste of time. Darrel was not the kind of man who wasted time.

He set back to work, putting aside his thoughts of Molly for later.

Around lunchtime, Darrel was surprised that the boss still had them working, now that the precipitation had turned to true snow. It was even starting to stick a little, covering everything with a thin coat of almost-white. Just as he was thinking this, he heard the telltale sound of lost footing on the other side of the roof. There was the slip, the inevitable stomp as the other foot was planted to try to regain traction, the thud as that foot slipped, as well, and the whole body went down, and then the sliding sound that stopped only when your rope ran out.

It was embarrassing, to fall, and he knew the guys would be giving this poor sap a hard time about it, though it probably hadn't even been his fault. They should have been off that roof an hour ago, at least- it was getting far too slippery, but Darrel wasn't going to stop before the boss told him to- it was going to be a short day anyway, and you don't get paid for hours you don't work.

He was thinking about that, waiting for the laughter from workers on the other side of the house, when instead he heard panic; yelling. He threw down his hammer and raced to the peak of the roof, looking over to find the man, Jackson, hanging by one hand from the edge, where the eaves hung out past where the plywood had been laid. His rope lay along the wood, ending about a foot from where the man hung, screaming.

_Jesus Christ, the guy wasn't tied off. Dear God, he was going to fall._

Darrel rushed down the slope, realizing that this side was more slick than his had been- the wind had caused the snow on this side to form a thin sheet of almost-ice. He tried not to step heavily, worried that the slightest vibration might cause the man to lose his grip, his knuckles already white and his hand shaking with the amount of weight it now held up. The man had been lucky to fall at that particular spot – a foot or so in either direction, and there would have been no overhang to grab on to.

As he inched toward him, Darrel's own rope ran out. He was stopped, a body length and a half from where Jackson was hanging. He had been working higher up and hadn't bothered to leave himself much extra length. He could see the man's face now- and in it, sheer terror. Two stories below him was the newly poured driveway- a landing pad of nothing but hard, unforgiving concrete. The men below were scrambling, screaming, scurrying for ladders, tarp, _something_ to catch him, but it was clear to Darrel that if he didn't do something, now, this was not going to end well.

Without thinking, he untied his own rope and lay his body down flat against the plywood. He inched his way out to the edge and reached down, circling his hand around the man's wrist where it gripped the joist. Thankfully, the man was smaller than Darrel, but still, he knew that the next step would be the hard part. Once he let go, the full weight of the man would be Darrel's responsibility for that one second while he swung his leg up onto the joist. If he wasn't braced properly, Jackson could pull them both down.

For a split second, Darrel hesitated, thinking about Molly and the boys. What was he doing, risking his life for this Jackson, this man of whom he knew nothing more than his name. But, looking back down, preparing to pull him up, he met his eye again and knew, then, that this man had people to go home to, as well. People who needed him. People who counted on him. People who loved him.

Darrel braced himself against the wood, and pulled at the man's arm with everything he had. For a second, it could have gone either way, but a foot appeared on the joist, and, in seconds, both men were lying on the roof.

"Thanks, Curtis," Jackson said, his voice and eyes still heavy with fear.

"You're welcome," he said, the reality of what had just happened hitting him. He wasn't sure, had he had more time to think about it, whether or not he would have made the same decision again. What the hell had he been thinking? He could have died.

_Jesus. He could have died._

A ladder appeared against the roof, where the men lay, and Darrel slid down to it, climbing down.

"Double check your tie-off next time," he said to Jackson, just as his eyes disappeared below the roofline.

At the base of the ladder he was greeted with cheers and pats on the back. The boss pulled him aside, telling everyone to call it a day.

"What the hell were you _thinking_, Darrel? He coulda pulled you right down with him," he said, shaking his head in disbelief.

Darrel didn't answer. But he knew what he had been thinking. If it had been him, he would have wanted _someone_ to help. He had Molly, and the boys, and he hoped that even a perfect stranger wouldn't have just let him die. No wife and kids deserve to get that news. He was glad that Jackson's wife wouldn't be getting it- not today, anyway.

The boss moved away from him, berating Jackson like a child.

"I _ever _catch you not double checkin' your tie-offs, you'll never work for me again. In fact, I don't even want you doing any more roof work. Tomorrow you're on the ground."

Jackson was muttering an apology as Darrel walked by the men. He got in his truck and drove, not remembering anything he passed along the way, wondering as he pulled into his driveway if he had stopped at red lights, or stop signs. He couldn't remember.

"Darrel, is that you?" Molly called, as he came through the front door. She knew to expect him earlier than usual when the weather turned bad.

He came into the kitchen. She was standing at the sink, washing the lunch dishes. She turned around when she felt him staring.

"_What?_" she asked. God, she's beautiful, Darrel thought.

"Where are the boys?" he asked.

"Napping," she said. "Darry's not home from school for another few hours."

He walked over to her, taking the dishtowel out of her hand and placing it on the counter behind her. He leaned into her, his mouth meeting hers with a need he hadn't even known he'd been feeling. He realized that, in that split second that he had hesitated, gripping Jackson's hand, it had not been falling that he had feared, or dying. He had feared losing this forever- this feeling of the woman he loved, her arms wrapped tightly around him, his lips pressing hard against hers, his hands wandering along her curves, lingering. She felt him move against her, and she responded.

"You're freezing," she whispered into his ear, taking his hand and leading him into the bedroom. "Let's get you warmed up."

They lay on the bed, her hands unbuttoning his shirt, his mouth on her neck.

"Molly?" he whispered.

"Mmmm?" her hands were inside his shirt now, rubbing his back.

"I love you."

Her hand closed around his, and he realized, that, ultimately, hers was the hand that would always keep him from falling.

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**A/N: The Curtis parents intrigue me, and hardly anyone writes about them! Please review and tell me what you think.**


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